


A Pack Full of Strays

by livy_bear



Series: Living is an Awfully Big Adventure [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya Stark Has Feelings, Arya doesn't leave westeros, F/M, Found Family, Happy Ending, Not Canon Compliant, and they were a family (oh my god they were a family), hinted at sex, that can be a character right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23223673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livy_bear/pseuds/livy_bear
Summary: Arya and Gendry have reached Storm's End, after Kings Landing burned to the ground, and are figuring out what it means to be a family, together. What kind of lord and lady are they?--Immediate continuation of the same universe as my other fic, To Live Would Be an Awfully Big Adventure. All you really need to know from that one is Elenna is the little girl from Kings Landing who died in the show, but in this she's safe and Arya's ward.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: Living is an Awfully Big Adventure [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669792
Comments: 8
Kudos: 108





	A Pack Full of Strays

They had been in Storms End for about six months at this point. The lands were militaristic and divided, which suited Arya just fine, but she thought for an incoming lord newly landed, that might pose problems. She was right, but only after a fashion. 

At first, the inhabitants of Storms End itself were excited to see their new lord return. He had come for a moment, rounded up all their husbands, brothers, and sons, left for a new war, and then returned with all of them still living. They openly welcomed the new family he brought with him, and took to petitions with vigor. Most of them only asking for assistance on things that had fallen into disrepair without a liege lord to look after it, like the training of new soldiers, taxes, and basic infrastructure. Arya and Davos worked at the sums for how many taxes they should feasibly collect for the time of emptiness in order to begin righting the issues. 

Arya spent her time not working, retraining the guards who hadn’t had need to be actively training in years. She ran them through beginning drills she’d seen Brienne call out in Winterfell, and made sure to drum out the men who refused to work. She sent out word to any women or girls who wanted to train, to come to the castle. It took a moment, but soon there were a handful of women in britches standing in the yard every afternoon. Elenna’s shining face among them.

Arya, of course, gave more time and effort to Elenna. She showed her how to be light of foot, and the way to be unseen in a crowed space. All of the training that hadn’t hurt her in the House of Black and White, she gifted to Elenna. The young girl took to it quickly, and would trade her days between learning to fight and running around the forge with Gendry.

Because Gendry still found moments to get away. He would spend all day working for his new people, and then pound his thoughts into new metal at the castle forge. The blacksmiths there were a little put off by their lord joining them in the evening to work on commissions, but found the ease at which he sank into their ranks familiar. Soon they had stopped calling him “my lord,” and addressed him by name only, handing him projects and enjoying the way Elenna ran between them all to transport tools or new bits of metal. 

As they had in Winterfell, the men of the forge grew quite accustomed to the family of Storms End spending plenty of time in there. Arya would run through her and Davos’ new taxing plans with her husband as he shaped the blade of a sword for one of his own men. The other smiths sometimes weighing in on whether they thought an idea would be feasible based on their own knowledge and experience in the stormlands. 

This time spent with them built loyalty to the house quicker than any parties or flowery words ever could. The guards of the castle took pride in being directly trained by their lady and armored by their lord. Arya had caught many of them boasting that one piece or another was “hand forged by Lord Baratheon himself.” The townsfolk even felt comfortable coming to the keep when petitions were not happening to deal with problems. Gendry had already begun to recognize most of them and learn their names. 

Arya and his favorite complaints being that of the young children coming to ask for help with fights between each other. They took each child very seriously as they described whatever the issue was. One memorable day was a young brown haired boy of about ten standing in the Great Hall, two smaller children behind him: a girl with hair as red as Sansa’s and another boy with brown hair. The young boy introduced himself Steffon.

“M’lord, m’lady,” he addressed with a childlike bow, seeming to lose his words as soon as he had risen back up. Arya and Gendry shared an amused glance.

“What is you petition, lad?” Davos prompted softly from the side.

“My brother Tomas,” he said glancing behind him to the other boy. “Stole some pudding from Roselyn—she lives across from us—when, um, when she was in my father’s home for supper.”

“Did he now?” Gendry asked amusedly, raising his eyebrows at the younger boy who blushed bright red. 

“But then—” Steffon stopped, “I mean—yes, m’lord. But, but then Rosie came over this morning and was playing swords with us. She took Tomas’s play sword and broke it!”

“Because Tomas stole her pudding?” 

“Uh huh,” Steffon nodded.

“It wasn’t fair!” Roselyn suddenly cried. Arya’s eyes shifted to the girl, and took in her pink cheeks and the way her hands had clenched in her dress.

“Why wasn’t it fair?” Arya stepped in, addressing the young girl instead of Steffon. The girl opened her mouth but then shut it tight again, taking a few deep breaths. Arya’s heart squeezed as she remembered what it was like to be pulled in front of a high lord and contradict what someone else had said. “Come here, girl,” she waved her forward. 

Roselyn looked between her friends and Ser Davos, then back to Arya. She hesitated a step forward, then moved quickly to stand directly in front of Arya. She gave a small little curtsy, “Milady.”

“You can tell Gendry and I quietly what’s wrong,” Arya said. “And we promise we won’t repeat it in front of everyone else.”

“Well, um,” Roselyn shuffled her feet. “It’s not fair because Steffon and Tomas always get pudding for supper. But I only have pudding sometimes, and never at my house,” she sniffed, speaking faster as she went along. “Also, their mother promised it special, and Tomas’ sword was just a wood one. It didn’t cost much, I swear and—and—You’re the Smith Lord; and Steffon says that means you’re good with swords, and you can fix it—”

“Alright,” Gendry calmed her, patting her shoulder. “Rosie, right?”

The girl nodded.

“Rosie,” he smiled. “I’m actually only good with metal swords; I can’t mend your friend’s. But I’m sure we can figure out another way to fix it. Ser Davos,” he called to the onion knight. “Have a steward sent to buy a new wooden sword for Tomas.”

“ _And_ ,” cut in Arya. “Have another take these children home, and invite both of their families to supper here tonight. The courtesies of Lord and Lady Baratheon.”

“I will, my lady,” Davos bowed his head, small smile gracing his face. “Shall I inform the Head of Household to prepare for guests?”

“Please do,” she said. “Make sure the kitchens have plenty of sweets made as well.”

“Right away,” Davos agreed. He stepped out of the room, informing the servants of the news, and Arya turned back to the young girl.

“You’re right, it wasn’t very fair,” she whispered, then raising her voice, “You. Boy, come here.”

Tomas ambled forward quickly with wide eyes.

“If I ever catch wind that you’re stealing pudding,” she pointed to Tomas, “or breaking swords that aren’t your own,” she pointed to Roselyn, “I will _personally_ tell both of your mothers exactly what went on here today. Understood?”

They chorused a ‘yes, my lady’ and Arya sent them out of the room with the steward. She turned back to Davos who had reentered with said steward just a moment before. “Are there any more petitions?”

“That’s all for today, Lady Arya.”

“Perfect,” Arya sighed, standing up and Gendry following her lead. “I want to do absolutely anything else than sit here and listen to the squabbles of children.”

Gendry smiled softly at her. “I think you handled it very well.”

“The benefits of having many siblings.”

Gendry hummed, brushing a hand against her cheek. “You would make a wonderful mother.”

“Don’t you start,” she warned with a laugh and a serious glint to her eyes. “We haven’t even been married a year, we’re not adding any children to the mix.” She began walking down the hall towards their private part of the castle.

“What about Elenna?” he asked, walking just behind Arya’s left shoulder.

“She doesn’t count.”

“I think she does.”

“She does not,” Arya contradicted. “I didn’t change her, nurse her, or _birth_ her; therefore, she doesn’t count.”

“As you say, milady,” he teased. Arya turned with an eye roll, and shoved his shoulder as they were walking. He stumbled a bit, chuckling along with her, and they continued on their way. 

“You know,” Gendry began again. “I really love when you call yourself Lady Baratheon.”

Arya smirked. “That’s what I am.”

“You are,” he agreed. “But you’re also a Stark through and through. It’s nice to hear that you’re my wife out loud, once and a while.”

“Do you forget?” she laughed.

“It doesn’t seem real sometimes,” he pressed his hand to her lower back and they stopped where they were. She turned and could see the softness and the sadness mixed in his expression. “I keep waiting to wake up.”

“I promise you’re awake,” Arya whispered, pushing up on her toes to kiss him softly. He kissed her back, pulling her body firmly to his own. When they pulled apart there was a secret smile on his face.

“I know we won’t have children anytime soon,” Gendry said, pressing a kiss to her chin, then her jaw. “But there’s no harm in practicing, is there?” His lips made their way to her ear then began down her neck. Arya hummed a pleased sound, and grabbed Gendry by the collar and tugged him once toward the staircase that lead to their rooms. She felt him smirk slowly against her skin and then they were running up the stairs together.

All in all, the first six months proved to run beautifully with the small folk. 

The lords were another matter.

Tarth was the first of the Houses under Baratheon control to send an envoy to pledge fealty—aside from the Seaworths who had been there the whole time. House Estermont was close behind them, followed by House Swann. Gendry became more and more relaxed in his station the more envoys came to the castle. But by the end of the six months, when all houses but Connington and Selmy had come to pledge, Arya thought it was time they do something.

“We should invite them here,” Davos suggested. Gendry groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Weekly meetings had become almost routine for Gendry, Arya, and Davos, but that didn’t mean Gendry was excited to be dealing with more highborn snubs and politicking. 

“Why can’t we let them do whatever they bloody want again?”

“If the issue goes ignored,” Davos explained. “Then next time it might be something more drastic. They may plan to unseat you or assassinate you.”

“They can try,” Arya muttered.

Gendry’s hand landed on her forearm comfortingly. With the contact, she felt something soft and bubbly roll up and over some of her anger. “And what will inviting them here do, exactly?”

“Give them a chance to know you,” Davos said. “If they learn who you are to them, they’re more likely to support you in the years to come.”

“You mean if they see I’m not a useless, illiterate bastard?”

“Fuck that,” Arya scoffed. “Plenty of people who are all that and more have been seated lords after one house or another fell, and they’ve done better than the lords before them. I’ve met legitimate, literate lords who are completely useless and terrible at their jobs.”

“She’s right,” Davos agreed. “None of that matters. The small folk love you, and the town has only prospered since you arrived.”

“Gendry,” Arya said softly, prompting him to turn and face her directly. She took a breath to steady herself. “If we—if I can’t ever have children, or if we never do…and you give your name and titles to Elenna, would you call her the same? You’ve learned to read and write together. Would you call her a useless, illiterate bastard?”

“Arya, you know I would _never_ —” She silenced him with a look. He sighed, dropping his head back into his heads. “Point taken. So what do we do?”

“We summon the lords here,” Davos said. “All of ‘em, even the ones who pledged. Then we discuss the future of the stormlands together.”

Gendry nodded his ascent; the letters were written in Arya’s much nicer hand, and sent to each holdfast in the stormlands. Davos excused himself from their solar to bring the scrolls to the ravenry, shutting the door behind him. Arya stood to clear the table of parchment and books, but Gendry lightly caught her wrist.

“Why did you say if you ‘can’t ever’ have children?”

Arya’s stomach dropped as she sat back down. She had told Gendry everything about her travels, and her time in Braavos. He knew about the Waif, and how she had hunted Arya through the canals after she’d refused to kill the actress. He knew how she had been beaten, blinded, and stabbed. But she had never shared her deepest belief about that time. She wasn’t sure if it was fear necessarily that kept the morsel of information to herself, but she hadn’t told him either way.

“In Braavos,” she said. “When the Waif caught me and stabbed me, I bled. A lot. You know that part. But I never saw a maester or a healer. I don’t know what damage she did or didn’t do to me. I don’t _truly_ know if I can ever have a child. I’m sorry, Gendry, I know you want a family.”

“Arry,” he sighed, pulling her from her chair and into his lap. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, tugging her in to curl up with him. “If you think having a babe of our own was a requirement to me asking to marry you, you’re wrong. I wasn’t sure if you would ever want children. Walking into my tent and seeing Elenna was a complete surprise for more than one reason. I married you—I _want_ you—because I love you, not for any other reasons. If it had just been you and I, that would have been enough. But Elenna is a gift. The three of us, we’re a family. I don’t care if you never birth a child. It’s like you said before.”

“We can give Elenna your name and title,” she finished for him.

“ _Our_ name,” he corrected. “But yes.”

Arya sighed. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you, too,” Gendry kissed her softly. “Do you ever really want more children, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Arya shrugged. “The option would be nice.”

“ _If_ we ever decide we do,” he said. “We’ll see a maester. And if it turns out you can’t, there are plenty of orphans all over Westeros that would love to live in a great big castle.”

Arya laughed, kissing Gendry again. She ran her fingers along his head where his hair had finally grown back in, thick and dark. She did have to admit, to herself if no one else, the thought of a babe that looked just like Gendry did warm a part of her heart like nothing else.

After that conversation in their solar, Arya felt a deeper tenderness towards Elenna. She hadn’t really thought of herself as Elenna’s mother, because she wasn’t. The girl had a mother who died in Kings Landing; she didn’t need Arya trying to replace that or fill the void. Arya would have killed anyone who tried to be Ned Stark when she was on the road. But she had begun to think of Elenna as definitively _hers_. She trained Elenna in everything she could, and the young girl often followed her around like a pup. That sort of affection and closeness could only breed a sort of maternal bond. No matter how much she felt like Elenna was her child, she would never presume to think Elenna felt similarly.

Until one night a week before the lords were all due to arrive, there was a nasty storm that raged all day and all night. The lightening and thunder that cracked the sky open felt like it shook the very castle to its core. Arya knew of the magic in its stones, the supposed link to Bran the Builder; she felt safe within the walls, but she took no rest in the hours it lasted. Every activity that she could possibly think of during the day couldn’t happen because most of them were out of doors. Gendry hadn’t gone to the forge, and sat inside reading under the guiding hand of their maester. 

Arya set up a target practice inside their rooms, and began to throw her many knives into the target again and again. Gendry looked up every so often when she would sink another blade deep into the wood, and she would catch his eye. The look he gave her set her on fire. 

The storm carried on ’til night, and Arya felt like she’d done literally ever single thing she could think of. Elenna had been in and out of the room to read and throw knives herself. Then she wandered off to play with the servants’ kids. Arya and Gendry had balanced all of the taxes for that month that the small folk had given and were just waiting on the sworn lords’ sums. They had fucked twice. Everything was done. It was boring and loud.

“Is lording always this dull?” Gendry asked as they lay in bed together that evening.

“Only when you live somewhere you can’t leave,” Arya replied. They both startled lightly at a clap of thunder so loud, the strike must have been very near to the keep. “Gods almighty..” she swore.

A moment later there was a tentative knock on their door. Arya frowned, glancing at Gendry who shrugged. She got up, grabbing her dagger as she made her way to see who was there. She unlatched the door and opened it, and immediately discarded her dagger when she saw Elenna standing there shaking.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, pulling the door the rest of the way open. Elenna didn’t say anything just catapulted herself against Arya, burying her head into her middle. Arya’s hands came to wrap around the small girl who was shaking like a leaf.

“Are you hurt?” Gendry asked, having gotten up as soon as he saw her.

Elenna shook her head, pushing her face more firmly into Arya when another crack of thunder filled the room. Arya looked to Gendry, then the window.

“Is the storm scaring you?” she felt the girl nod.

“Can I stay with you?” Elenna asked in a small voice. She glanced up at Arya, eyes darting over to Gendry who had moved to be right next to them.

Gendry dropped to his knees, brushing the hair back from Elenna’s face. His eyes were so soft as he looked at their girl. “Of course you can,” he promised. “You can always come to us when you’re afraid.”

She nodded, and pushed away from Arya only to throw her skinny arms around Gendry’s neck instead. He gave a huff as he hefted her off her feet and into his arms. Then he walked them to he and Arya’s bed, gently depositing the girl down on the soft mattress. Arya crawled into the other side, and Elenna quickly burrowed herself between the two of them. 

The next morning Arya woke up with Elenna’s cold feet tucked beneath her legs and one of her hands wrapped firmly around Arya’s wrist. She slept peacefully with Gendry’s arm settled protectively over the both of them during the night. Arya felt like her heart could never be fuller than that exact moment, and then Elenna mumbled in her sleep. 

“Mama,” she muttered, tightening her grip on Arya.

Arya choked in a breath, and pulled the girl close to her body in a tight hug. She stirred, but did not wake. This moment, Arya thought, she could keep this moment locked in her heart forever and never feel more at peace. This is what Sandor had been asking of her when he told her to live. This is what she chose when she rode on her horse out of Kings Landing. She was never more glad that she did. She sent her thoughts up to whatever bloody gods were listening for giving her this life now.

When Gendry woke latter, after Arya had already dressed for the day and collected a few incoming ravens from the invited lords, he dressed and joined her. His smile when he took in the still sleeping form of Elenna on their bed made Arya’s heart ache again. He turned to look at her, and the soft love in his eyes didn’t change a bit. 

“I love you,” Arya said. He hummed, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

That was their last truly slow and soft morning for a while.

The lords eventually had to come, and the castle came to life as they did. The servants and stewards were always running around preparing this or that. Arya couldn’t spend as much time with the guards as she wished she could, training them up until she deemed sufficient, she now had to see to petitions alone as Gendry was pulled away to learn as much about the storm lords as possible. Arya had taken to bringing Elenna with her to petitions, letting her make the judgement on the smaller issues (especially the children who still came in from time to time).

The day Arya finally got a break from petitions was the day that _all_ of the lords finally arrived to Storms End itself. As Arya dressed for the day, she paused before pulling on her normal britches. She remembered suddenly the words of her mother telling her and Sansa at some point in their childhood that there is a power in the way ladies of Great Houses present themselves. She let her clothes drop to the floor, walking over to her trunk where she kept her finer clothes. These were the leathers that she would wear to Sansa’s wedding one day, or if she were called to Kings Landing again to be at Bran’s side. They were a deep dyed black with golden thread woven through in a beautiful pattern. More finely than Arya ever cared to have before marrying Gendry. She dressed in that, with newer britches to go with them, pulling her warm fur cloak over it all. She strapped Needle and her Catspaw dagger to her belt, and looked herself over. She knew the colors would look right to the lords attending, and the finery would appease the parts of them that didn’t like to see a lady in pants. 

She pulled her hair back the way she always did, and didn’t care much for the rest of her presentation. Gendry had finished dressing behind her when she turned around. He was leaning against their bed admiring her.

“See something you like, m’lord?” she teased.

His nose wrinkled at the title, but smoothed into a smile quickly, “Just my wife.”

“Is that all?” Arya sauntered over to him, smirking slightly. He looked very handsome in his leathers. The make and style of them were very similar to hers—courtesy of the talented seamstress who made them most likely. He did not wear a sword at his side as she did, but there was a loop for a forge hammer to hang on his belt. Still a smith through and through.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, letting his hands come to rest on her waist.

“So you tell me,” she murmured, kissing him softly. He groaned lightly, tightening his grip.

“I wish we didn’t have to meet these bloody lords,” he said. “I would lay in bed with you all day.”

“Tempting.”

“We should skip it,” Gendry whispered in her ear. “The whole meeting. Just you and me in our bed, and I’ll fuck you until we’re both too tired to move.”

Arya laughed, running her fingers through his hair. “I wish we could.”

“We still have a bit before they come to get us,” he said, kissing at her neck. “We could do some of it.”

“We could,” she agreed.

There was a series of quick knocks at their door. Gendry dropped his forehead to Arya’s shoulder. “Of course,” he groused. 

Arya laughed, again. “Come in,” she called.

Ser Davos open their door, Elenna hot on his heels to enter. They both were dressed quite well, the girl wearing a near duplicate of Arya’s doublet but clearly wearing a light grey dress underneath. She had braided her hair in the Northern way that Sansa had shown her in Kings Landing, and looked just the picture of a little lady. 

“Begging your pardon, my lady,” he nodded to Arya. “But the little lady insisted she come along with you, and I could not dissuade her.”

“Elenna,” Gendry frowned slightly. “You don’t really want to attend a meeting full of dusty old lords, do you?”

Elenna was nodding even before Gendry was done speaking. “I do! Please? Arya is going, and if I’m her ward then I should be by her side, everywhere. Melysa said so!”

“‘Melysa’ being your handmaiden’s _daughter_ , Melysa,” Arya clarified.

“She said it’s my duty to attend you,” Elenna argued.

“I don’t see it being a problem, lad,” Davos put in. “These are her people now too, and there’s no harm in a little state-craft.”

“She may be taking over this castle someday,” Arya mused, then turned to the girl. “If you promise to listen the whole time, you may come along.”

“I promise,” she said quickly. She looked to Gendry and he shook his head fondly, patting the girl’s head. 

“Well, let’s not keep them waiting any longer then,” Davos gestured them all out the door. 

The group arrived to the great hall where a table had been set, and all the Lords of the Storm Lands sat relatively patiently waiting. House Estermont sat closest to the head of the table where Gendry would undoubtably sit. Their lord was surprisingly young as well, but still had a few years on his liege lord. The other men were all chatting amongst themselves, but Arya could see the tension in the lords from Houses Selmy and Connington. 

“Apologies for keeping you waiting, my lords,” Davos declared, claiming his seat near the head of the table as well. Gendry sat and Arya pulled her chair to be directly next to his, Elenna claiming the empty seat beside Davos. 

“Now may we begin?” Lord Estermont prompted, smiling kindly at Gendry. He nodded and the meeting began.

They discussed many things about the lands, and Gendry told his story of coming to his title. He discussed what he had seen in Westeros as a simple smith. He told a brief recounting of he and Arya’s travel through the Riverlands, and the treatment of the small folk he had seen and experienced. He talked of wanting to make the Stormlands better and safer than all the other places he’d seen. Many of the lords nodded along, as if they had heard similar tales before. 

Arya frowned; these lords knew nothing of what it was to starve on the road, and fear robbers as you slept. They had never had to cram themselves together in a room to not freeze. They had never needed to think about where they kept what little coin they had to insure it wasn’t picked from them. These lords had enough coin that one or two going missing meant near to nothing. They hadn’t faced the fear of a morn never arriving. They hadn’t faced the dead screaming and howling in the night. They hadn’t lost their faces. They didn’t _know_. But…

But.

Still they listened to Gendry, and that was enough. None of them interrupted or spoke over Gendry. Lord Tarth even brought up the taxation as of recent, proposing a possible change to help accommodate the price of war on the land as well as the people. And that’s when it all really came to a head.

“Pardon for speaking out of turn, Lord Baratheon,” said a lord from the back of the table. _Connington_ , Arya noted. There was some derision with which he said Gendry’s title, and she didn’t like the way his lip curled as he spoke.

Gendry gestured for him to continue.

“If we’re to discuss taxing and state matters, is it necessary for your wife and the _child_ to remain with us?”

“What d’you mean?” Gendry frowned.

“Well,” he shuffled in his seat. “These aren’t really matters for ladies. We’ve humored them long enough to be here, but I don’t see why they should need to be present.”

“We live here,” Arya said in a cool tone.

“As do we all, my lady,” he said. “But these are not women’s matters.”

She arched an eyebrow. “What _are_ women’s matters, then?”

“Matters of the _household_ of course, and-and,” Connington sputtered and scoffed.

Arya hummed, cutting him off. “These are bold words coming from a man whose house refused to fight for my husbands father, the _former king_ ,” she stood from her seat, and continued, “his _liege lord_ , whom he is sworn to follow and obey.” She began to walk around the table towards Lord Connington.

“My lady,” he tried.

“Have you ever been to Braavos, Lord Connington?” Arya asked, pulling out her Catspaw and flipping it through her fingers.

“Once, many years ago,” he answered. “I don’t know what that has to do with—”

Arya hummed, cutting him off again. “Do you know of a house on the banks of the canals with one door made of ebony and the other of weirwood?”

“I—” he swallowed, face draining of color. “I do.”

“Then you know,” she continued pacing, twirling her dagger artfully, “That the women of this house deal in _many_ types of matters. Matters of the house, matters of state, matters of health, matters of _personal safety_ …” Arya trailed off, tossing the dagger and allowing it to sink deep into the wood of the table just in front of Lord Connington’s chest.

“These women can be anyone, and No One at all,” a girl smiled like a wolf. “You, my lord, happen to be very lucky that you are dealing with Arya Stark today. I _will_ do as I please.”

“Yes, my lady,” he gulped. 

“Good,” Arya retrieved her blade. She leaned into his personal space, just enough to be discomforting. “Though I will not have you misunderstand me; if a girl were to change her mind on you, you would not see her coming.”

“Arya,” Gendry called from the other side of the table. She looked to him; he seemed to be fighting back a smile. “Enough.”

“I only wanted to make myself abundantly clear,” she shrugged innocently, walking back to her seat, and dropping a hand to Elenna’s shoulder as she did. 

“You’ve succeeded, I should think,” Davos said.

“As to the child, my lady?” another lord was bold enough to ask.

“What of her?” Gendry cut in, pushing to his feet.

“My lords, if I may,” Davos interrupted. “As the heir apparent of this castle, I believe the Lady Elenna has every right to attend the meetings of the Lord.”

“Excuse me?” Lord Connington burst.

“The _heir apparent_?” Another lord cried. The room burst with noise before Gendry slammed his fist down on the wooden table, causing some cups to spill and the candles to clang against each other.

“Enough!” Silence fell over the lords. Arya did her best not to smirk as she stood at Gendry’s shoulder. “This is my castle is it not? And I _am_ the lord of it by the decree of the king, and the blood than runs in my veins,” he allowed but a moment of contemplation before continuing. “I will not have _my family_ questioned on if they’re allowed in meetings in their own home. You lot are our guests, not the other way ‘round. My _wife_ is here because she wishes to be, and my _ward_ is here for the same reason. Any of you that don’t like it: get out.”

“We meant no offense, my lord,” Lord Swann said, placatingly. 

“Too late,” Arya smiled.

“Mayhaps it’s best if we continue this another day,” Davos said, standing and folding his hands behind him. “My lords, the stewards will show you to your chambers. We’ll continue this in the morning, after we’ve all eaten and _rested_.” The last part he said directly to Gendry.

The lords nodded, filing out with small nods of their head to the lord and lady. Lord Estermont stuck around the longest. He shot a grin towards Arya and Gendry just before turning to leave. 

“Lord Baratheon,” he nodded. “Lady Baratheon. Little Lady.” He ruffled a hand through Elenna’s hair, and then was out the door with the rest of them. Arya felt a touch of warmth for Lord Estermont—Gendry’s second cousin, if she remembered Baratheon lineage correctly.

As soon as the room was clear, Gendry let out a loud exhale, shoulders dropping. “Bloody highborn bullshit,” he muttered.

“You handled them well, lad,” Davos clapped his hand to Gendry’s arm. “Maybe we could do with a few less threats next time, but… they deserved some of it.”

“Some,” he scoffed.

The four of them collected the paperwork they’d brought down and headed back to the family chambers. Davos continued to speak with Gendry on ways to handle each lord individually, suggesting the possibility of a small feast to ease their stay. He prattled on, and Arya tuned him out. This side of statecraft was not one she cared deeply for. They would let her know what they decided on, or Gendry would ask her advice. 

Elenna had remained surprisingly quite through the meeting and along the walk back, but just before they reached the doors of the solar, she grabbed Arya’s arm. “What’s ‘heir apparent’ mean?” 

“It means,” Arya began. “That when Gendry and I die or give up Storms End, you will succeed us and become the lady. If that’s what you wish to do.”

“Oh,” she frowned. “Like you said before. I get the castle?”

“Yes,” Arya confirmed.

Davos cleared his throat, and she turned, not having realized they’d stopped talking. “It also means that should you have any children of your own, Lady Elenna is still first in line.” 

“I’m not a lady,” Elenna protested.

Gendry cracked a small smile before his face became serious again. He crouched down to the young girl’s height. “You don’t have to be anything you don’t want. You have years to think on it, and then let us know. Alright?”

“Alright,” she nodded. She still looked ill at ease, but let her grip on Arya turn into a hold, which then slipped to just clasping her hand. 

“I know we’re not your parents, Elenna,” Arya squeezed the girl’s hand. “But if you’ll have us, you can be our daughter.”

Her eyes widened, “I thought I was your ward.”

“You can be both,” Arya said. “One of my brothers growing up wasn’t even my father’s son, but he was my brother. I knew him my whole life, and he was family. Pack. The four of us? We can be pack too.”

“If you have kids…?” Elenna trailed off.

“They’ll be your siblings, if you want.” Gendry chimed in.

“Your pack, all the same.” Arya said.

Elenna seemed to think about it for a moment, “Ser Davos is pack?”

“Apparently so,” Davos chuckled.

“We’re a pack,” Elenna said. “So…we’re a family, too?

We are,” Arya confirmed. Elenna looked between the three of them, then threw herself into Arya’s arms, hugging her tightly. She let go moving on to Gendry then to Davos. 

The small family finished making their way upstairs, and spent the remainder of the day relaxing. Arya taught Elenna a bit of how to fight with a dagger or a knife, and then let the girl play with her hair for a bit. She braided in some cording one of the servants had given her, and tied it back into a messier approximation of the bun Arya had been wearing before. 

Gendry sat with Davos and started working through the stories of Ser Duncan the Tall, stumbling less and less over his words as he went. Elenna joined in for a portion, then ran off with the servants kids to play hide and go seek around the castle floor before it became to dark.

Later in the evening, when they’d eaten and Gendry had finished some more lessons with reading, he and Arya climbed into bed.

“Were you talking about Jon earlier?” Gendry asked, trailing his fingers up and down Arya’s back. She had tucked herself tightly to his side, head pillowed on his chest.

“When do you mean?”

“When you said the ‘brother that wasn’t your father’s son’,” he clarified. “Did you mean Jon?”

She shook her head, “Theon.”

Gendry hummed, pressing a kiss to her head.

“He betrayed our family,” she said quietly. “But Sansa forgave him, and after what the Bolton’s did to him… I can forgive him too. He was a Stark. He died defending Bran. He was my brother as much as he was Yara’s.”

Gendry remained silent for a moment longer, then gently led her up by the chin to look at him. “I love you more than words. D’you know that?”

Arya laughed softly, “I love you too, stupid.”

“All you do is collect strays and give them a family.”

She scoffed. “That is _not_ ‘all I do.’”

“You’re right,” he conceded. “You also drive me mad, and try to insult everyone you meet— _or_ you try to kill them.”

“Those _are_ beloved pastimes,” she snarked. “Especially the insulting. I’m quite good at it now.”

“Seven help us if we do have any children,” Gendry laughed. “They’ll all inherit your sharp tongue, and the lords of Westeros will never be safe again.”

“Most of those lords deserve what they get,” she protested. “And I thought you _liked_ my tongue.”

“I do, love,” Gendry kissed her lightly, as they both settled back down to sleep. “I absolutely do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ope I did it again. I'm going to keep writing my happy little imaginary world until I hyper-fixate on something else.
> 
> I also plan to add in the other Baratheon Bastards at some point.


End file.
